


Ignorance is Bliss

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Gravity Falls Spoilers, Post-Finale, past catching up to them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time’s running out. Ford has no idea what’s going on but Stan is missing and that’s all that matters. All he can do is follow the trail and pray he’s not too late.</p><p>Meanwhile, Stan’s demons have finally caught up to him. The only problem is he has no recollection of them at all.</p><p>…Not yet anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As One Door Closes, Another Opens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU that became a rambling textpost from a lot of tumblr people XD hopefully more will do their own version because i want to read every possible outcome for this little idea.
> 
> (PS: I'm running on very little sleep for the last 4 days all with 11-12 hour shifts on top of that. Shout if I've spelt something terribly or not noticed I've stopped a sentence in the middle or something ♥)

Stan wasn’t sure what had happened.

One minute he’d been locking up his car, humming brightly to himself, ready to go shopping for the first time alone in what was probably a very long time. It had taken a lot of proof, a lot of showing his brother that yes he remembered how to drive a car and navigate the roads nearby. He wasn’t entirely sure how himself, considering the age old memory of lessons had melted away as unimportant, but he did know how to do it. And that yes, he was sure nothing would spark any new wayward memories that always had a habit of knocking him for six. He might not remember everything yet but he remembered enough to not stumble around the last 30 years of his mindscape in confusion. Unlike that shameful incident when he’d been taken back to the diner for the first time. It had hurt his head to see that many unfamiliar but familiar faces all at once, the smells and the sounds of the place making him close his eyes tight and press his hands over his ears until the swirling images and nonsensical noises stopped. He felt confident now that he knew the town, he knew the people and other strange inhabitants, and if anything, ever since the memories of the final weeks of summer had slipped back into place he had started to understand why everyone was so welcoming everywhere he went. Why no one got frustrated in his lack of recollection and gave him more chances than he knew how to respond to. They all seemed to hold him in high regard but as happy he was, he wasn’t sure he deserved all the attention. Anyone would have done what he did in his position.

And so after much begging and pleading, proving that he was not an invalid and _yes, he could handle just one trip down into town, god, Stanford_ , he had waved goodbye to the Mystery Shack and zoomed off in the car with a new found sense of freedom spurring him ever onwards.

And with that gleeful happiness that his brother trusted him enough and the determination to keep it that way, he’d stepped out of his car with a sense of purpose.

Only to find himself abruptly stumbling to the ground, knees and hands grazing against the gravel of the car pack as he sprawled forwards. His head felt like it had been split in two, the world spinning around him as he wondered what on earth had happened. He hadn’t felt anything like this before, even when the memories of the apocalypse had hit him like a freight train. Then again with those particular memories coming in starts and stops he’d been far more concerned about making sure his family were alright, more concerned with apologising for not just doing what he was supposed to do and almost ruining everything. Ford had been with him then though. He had pushed passed the guilt for him, and kept him from spiralling, from pushing them all away all because he couldn’t justify being thought of as the hero.

He laid where he was for a few moments, trying to get the floor to stop moving underneath him as his body rebuked him for the weird position he had found himself in. But for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint what had sparked an episode this violently painful. There had been no smell to trigger him, no image that sparked another, superimposing itself on reality like old film. In fact, he mused, frowning, there was nothing at all. No unbearable memory to speak of, or flashes of unrelated images and jumbled conversations, his mind still firmly lodged in the present.  The unknown of the situation made him feel suddenly small and vulnerable, nothing and no one to put between himself and the rest of the world while he tried to solve the puzzle that was his own mind.

Maybe he’d been wrong about all this.

Maybe he should have let Ford come with him.

“See? I told ya' it won't be any problem.”

Stan frowned at the voice, not really comprehending the words as he realised with a start that he wasn’t alone. He tried to pull himself up into a seated position, ready to lie through his teeth and pretend that everything was OK. He couldn’t seem to think up anything to say though through the aching haze, his tongue fat and useless in his mouth as he blinked up at two figures blocking out the sun in front of him. He winced, raising a hand to his head, the contrasting dark shadows and bright light behind them sending another sharp jagged stab through his head. He grimaced before his eyes widened, his mouth slackening at the sticky wet substance he found there, the tender skin and muscle rebuking his touch.

_Oh._

“Jeez, El Jefe said no' to let him fool us. Que nos daría problemas. I’m a bit disappointed, thought he put up more of a fight.”

“C'mon, you've been watchin' 'im over da last few days as much as I've. I'm sure he’s gotten senile.” Stan leant back ever so slightly, hand still propping his head up, as one of the men bent down to his level, a twisted grin on his face as he took in Stan’s vacant and scared expression. “Thought we’d never get ya away from tha’ brother of yours.”

“What?” _Watched him_? Why would these people be watching him? What had he done to deserve this? They knew him, that much was obvious but he couldn’t place their faces anywhere. He could feel his breathing hitching, the ever familiar insidious black spaces in his head dancing out to greet him. He grit his teeth at the treachery of his own mind, hating how it always felt like someone was mocking his attempts, but he couldn’t think passed the pain bouncing around his skull to even attempt to force the issue.

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to.

He shifted further back again subconsciously, just wanting to escape. A small whimper tore from his mouth as a boot connected with his stomach, laying him out flat again, his arm taking the brunt of the fall and his weight. He shook sadly, not daring to get up again and curled himself into a protective ball around the fresh agony radiating from his abdomen.

“ _Patético_.”

“¿A quién le importa? Hace nuestras vidas más fáciles.”

Stan whimpered again as he felt hands tug under his armpits and pull him upright, the entire world tilting sideways as his head continued to daze him. He was sure that he should be fighting back. The thought trickled away from him as quickly as it had come. A hard to grasp notion that he had done just that on multiple occasions that his brain still wouldn’t allow him to see, that deep down it was what he’d normally do. But even if he had had the inclination to fight, his head was full of cotton, his body full of lead as his feet dragged along the floor, ignoring his inner turmoil.

" _Dios_ , es pesado."

The words rattled incomprehensively through Stan’s head as they continued to drag him. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the fuzziness as he looked up to where they were taking him.

His whole body shuddered at the car they were walking towards. He didn’t know why but it filled him with dread. Perhaps it was the fact that he had hoped rather grimly that they would beat him and leave him in the middle of the carpark. At least that way he could get home. This was a whole other level, his heart beating an unsteady tempo in his chest at the thought of being taken somewhere, held hostage even. What had he _done_?

How would he get back to Ford?

A flashing image of his brother, his concerned and worried face at letting him go out alone, sparked behind his eyes. How would he find him if he was kidnapped? No, he couldn’t let them! He shook himself, head lolling slightly as he tried to get a glimpse of someone, anyone who might be around to help. He cursed at the empty car park, finally starting to struggle against them, pulling back as a fire ignited in him not to give up. He had to stay with Ford!

A swift punch to the side of his head sent him sprawling again, only held up by the hands tight around his forearms. All thoughts deserted him at the white hot pain as a ring grazed his cheek and his head snapped to the side. He could feel blood dripping from his mouth, his teeth tearing into the gums at the assault. He fell forwards in their grasp, his breaths short, sharp gasps of pain as he struggled to get his bearings again, anything the men said above him slipping through his ears in a buzz of white noise.

By the time he had enough energy to lift his head again, when the fog of pain had lifted from his head, he was being held by one of the men right next to the car. The other gave him a sickening grin as their eyes met, ice dancing down his back at the view. The man turned away from him, unlocking the trunk of the car and gesturing inside with a flourish as if he’d just shown Stan the most exciting thing in the world.

The implication almost made his stomach rebel. Or maybe that was the concussion. He squinted passed the throb still pulsing through his head in time with his heartbeat. There was something just barely there, like a word on the tip of his tongue as he stared into the open maw of the car that had been presented to him.

He locked the thought up before it could go any further, tearing his eyes away. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to remember. A clear contrast to the bubbling frustration he had been feeling over the last few weeks, months even, since his memories had made their slow flickering return.

Another punch to the stomach bent him over, winded and hacking up bile as he was manhandled forward. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been struggling again, that he’d been trying to rip himself out of the grip and away from the man holding him. There was a small surge of vicious victory as the man hissed disgustedly, the bile spray splashing up his leg. He’d also managed to get a punch in somewhere without even noticing, his body reacting when his mind couldn’t. It seemed to fuel the man onwards though. Stan felt his attacker press up against his back, forcing his arms forward and locked in place for the other man to tie together, the binds tight and unyielding. He tugged fruitlessly, ignoring their jeers before a cry was torn from his lips. The man behind him, still angry at the slight from earlier, shoved him forward by the back of the head, the action making him stumble forward, stars sparking behind his eyelids. He tipped forwards into the trunk, forehead knocking against the bottom when his bound hands couldn’t support him. Another moan slipped passed his bitten lips as his ankles were bound together before they tipped him in entirely, pushing him over on to his side, uncaring of the position he found himself cramped in.

The two malicious grins staring down at him vanished with a deafening crack as the trunk was slammed shut. The sound echoed around his head, a rush of well-known terror rising up to greet him, leaving him breathless. A door had unlocked, slamming open against the confines of his mind at the same time as the darkness claimed him. But no images presented themselves with the tell-tale signs of recollection, just the unnerving sound of his own muffled and panic-stricken voice.

This was not the first time this had happened to him.

He’d been locked in one of these before.

That was all he knew, a choked sob echoing back at him from the confined space. His head was ringing with darkness, both inside and out, the pain from the multiple hits draining him of any thought pattern. Trails of thought ending almost before they’d truly begun. He tried to move, to stretch himself out as much as possible but every time he moved he hit metal, reminding him just how small the space was. He closed his eyes, willing himself to pretend that the darkness was only behind his eyelids as he curled himself up into a tight ball. Within only a few moments the sensory deprivation was making tremors shudder through him. A buzz of static eclipsed everything around him, a filter that he was hard pressed to hear himself over. He didn’t even know if the men outside had just left him there to rot, the sounds of the outside world dying before they could break passed his metal cage. The air left him in panicked gasps, musty and old and _not nearly enough to keep him breathing_ , not in his mind’s eye anyway. It was all he could hear roaring through the fear and pain, _get out, get air_. He was going to suffocate in here and no one would ever know what had happened to him.

_Would anyone even care?_

The thought made everything else hush for a second, his eyes snapping open wide even though they were of no use to him. He whined, another vicious shake making his knee hit the panel again as the dreaded darkness stayed with him. He couldn’t visualise _anyone_. No one came to mind to help him, no family or friends, no acquaintances even, who might at least notice he was gone.

_Come to think of it, who am I?_

Stan’s arms struggled against his binds, the thought more terrifying than the situation he was in. He didn’t know his own name, it was stuck fast, lodged deep in the back of his skull, passed all the injuries. He knew it was there, he just couldn’t get to it. He started to whisper to himself, a mantra to stave off the silence, to stave off the scream clawing up his throat. “Breathe, just breathe. Just like he told you-” _Like who told you?_ “D-doesn’t matter, just-” _It does, someone will come looking for you. Think. Who told you?_ Stan frowned at the thought, took deep breathes to steady himself, forced himself to stop his near hyperventilating. The pain in his head ebbed slightly as the oxygen returned to his brain, a small amount of clarity slipping through. Someone was waiting for him, he’d thought about him when he’d tried to escape his assailants earlier. The thought of him had made him fight back. But who was it? He bit back a frustrated growl, anger pooling in his stomach. He’d been trying so hard to get his memories back and all it had taken was a few well aimed punches from that bastard out there to knock him senseless again.

“ _Hey, take it easy, we can’t force them.”_

“Ford.” The word came out in a bubble of hope, the name snapping up to accompany the face his mind had brought forth at his fizzling rage. His brother’s face, full of reassurance even as he tried to hide his own disappointment in light of Stan’s irritation at their slow progress. He’d stood by him, kept him from slipping and giving up hope, had soothed him when he’d been terrified of never getting the memories back, to be forever trapped in a perpetual darkness when he closed his eyes and tried to remember. How he had sat him down when paranoia swept in and he had thought it was all fading away again, Ford’s hands on his shoulders grounding him to reality.

_“Concentrate on me, on my voice, OK? I’ll get you through this.”_

Stan nodded, his eyes closed again as he listened to the voice, letting it wash over him just like it had at the time.

“ _Stan? Are you listening? We’ll get through this, I promise.”_

 _Stanley Pines, that’s you._ A tear slipped down his face, his minds choke hold on his body easing as it remembered. “S-Stan, that’s my name, Stan.” He took another shaky breath, opening his eyes as he let his body slump down, a wave of relief shuddering through him softly and adding to the tears trailing slowly down his cheeks.

He bolted up again a few seconds later, barely missing the top of the trunk with his head. This wasn’t the time to worry about his name! He needed to get out of here, fast! “Ford!” The word tore from his mouth, a loud croak as he slammed his feet against the metal, his knees protesting the movement. He punched upwards, continuing the shout as pain shot up his arms with the vibrations. “FORD!” His brother had said he’d get him through this, he’d notice soon, right? Notice that something was wrong, that he wasn’t there. It was that or scream incoherently and Stan would take anything that kept him focussed, kept him grounded to himself. “FORD, PLEASE!” All he had to do was get someone to hear. There had to be someone nearby who would be concerned by the noise and send for help. That’s all he really needed, even if what he _wanted_ was the one face that had made it passed the mist. “FORD!”

A loud bang right above his head made him flinch back, shuffling deeper into the small space.

“Shout all ya want! No one gonna hear ya!”

“Ford…” The word came out desperate and needy against the vindictive laughter outside, another cracking thud above him making him cringe as it send a pulse through his already battered head. “Ford, please…” It was useless, he knew that, his heart sinking as he recalled that he had begged to go out alone that day.

When would Ford even miss him?

He curled up tight again as wet hot tears streamed down his face. He could feel the burn on his wrists and ankles where his efforts had forced the binds deeper into his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to care, knowing he had to keep trying if he was ever going to get out of this.

The car rumbled to life underneath him, his knees and elbows pulling as close to his chest as he could muster as it pulled out of the car park.

“Ford, please find me, I don’t know if I can do this alone…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I made the AU even sadder didn’t I? *whistles*
> 
> Should I add translations? Guess I should.
> 
> (I had help with the spanish/broken english but I can’t ping them because I know they haven’t seen the finale yet ^^;; as soon as they have I’ll ping them so I can thank them properly for all their help x)  
> ‘Jeez, Boss said not to let him fool us. That we’d struggle with him. I’m a bit disappointed, I thought he’d put up more of a fight.’  
> ‘Pathetic’  
> 'who cares, it makes our lives easier’  
> ‘God, he’s heavy’


	2. Unconventional Methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might seem slow to begin with but bear with me, Ford doesn’t know what’s going on remember x

The clock was mocking him.

Ford sighed, slumping further into his seat in front of the TV, trying his hardest to let the mindless drivel on the screen divert his attention from the anxious tapping of his foot. He’d vetoed his own ideas of reading or scribbling new notes in his journal knowing that would be too much of a distraction. That he might not notice time slip away from him or notice the light change around him. No, the TV was good, each advert break a sure sign for his mind to look up and check the time again with bated breath.

If only the shows were stimulating enough to stop him looking up even without an ad break, the clock ticking glacially slowly against the speed of his own mind.

It had been an hour since Stan left.

Ford sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as he sat himself up again. He mentally shook himself scolding for this intense worry. Stan was _OK_. He _needed_ this. And maybe it was good for Ford too, to know that Stan could look after himself, was confident enough to do so without him. He knew Stan, deep down and even with his memories alluding him, he had hated being fussed over. If anything he had been especially resistant when his recollections of them had escaped him, an odd awkwardness coming off him in waves at these strangers trying to coddle him. Some of the tension had dissipated when he finally recognised their faces, recalled their relationships but then the response turned into disgruntled irritation on the good days and disappointed acceptance on the bad.

Only for them though. Him and the kids. Ford relaxed into the musings, letting them distract him more than the TV ever could as he remembered Stan’s reactions to other people around town. He couldn’t really blame Stan for how he reacted, if anything it had been so _Stan_ when he wasn’t really himself yet that it had almost made him cry. If the townspeople talked to him like it was a completely normal day and let him be, didn’t bat an eyelid if he suddenly stopped talking, eyes glazing over as another memory took over. On those days he acted as he always had. A gruff laugh and a bad joke on his lips as he let everything wash over him, calm and serene. Those days were the good ones. Ford hummed to himself, grateful to the friends Stan had who would look out for him through thick and thin but were tactful enough to see Stan’s distress at his own mind deserting him when he needed it. Discreet enough to overlook what they had to, to keep his spirits up.

Then there had been the others, Ford’s mouth slipped into a furious frown as he recalled them. The ones who repeatedly asked him if he remembered them. Rambling through interactions they’d had before the memory wipe even when Stan started to draw back into himself at the questions, his body language tight and defensive, eyes flickering in the hopes of recalling something to stop the bombardment and the bubbling frustration welling up in his chest. Those occasions he’d find himself snapping, vicious and venomous, usually at Ford or the kids as they tried to reassure him because _no, it was not fine, nothing about this was fine_. And then the angry cloud would lift as soon as it appears, doused by an exhausted shame. A dark guilt at shouting at them when they didn’t deserve his ire. When it was his own head he was bitterly disappointed with.

Other’s had got what was coming to them, Ford noted with grim satisfaction The ones that had bore the brunt of Stan’s indignant fury, puffed up and defensive, eyes alight with a stubborn challenge. They were no friends of his if they were stupid enough to ask him if he knew, still remembered how to do something inane and obvious, acted like he was a child still learning about the world, their voices condescending until his harsh words sent them cowering.

Sometimes though, that persistence his brother possessed in limitless supplies made it difficult to compromise. Ford knew Stan could do things, would never question his abilities. But that didn’t mean he was completely happy with leaving him to his own devices, wasn’t completely ready himself for Stan to go off on his own again. It wasn’t even because he was worried about Stan. Sure he wanted to be there to anchor him if he had any flashbacks but they were becoming few and far between the more he recalled. And if they tried to wait for all his memories to return they might be waiting forever. No one but Stan knew what had happened to him in the years he had been separated from his family, no one but Stan knew what had happened behind closed doors in the years that he had run the Mystery Shack. So, really logically, this was the best time for Stan to start testing his limits and Ford was happy to accept that. No, the real reason that Ford wanted him in eyesight at all times was that it _scared_ him. The thought that he might turn around and Stan just wouldn’t be there anymore. It was irrational, paranoia born from everything they had been through. The last few weeks had been a constant heavy reassurance that they always had one another that he was terrified of losing. He knew it wasn’t healthy, that as much as they were both loving each other’s company, they needed to have their space. Stan was getting restless, he wasn’t the type to sit around and do nothing.

So this would be good for him, good for both of them. For Stan to have a sense of independence again, to be able to feel like he’d proved himself and for Ford to see irrefutably that time apart wouldn’t make him vanish from his life. He couldn’t wait for his elated expression when he came back from his trip into town without a hitch, eye sparkling with a smug ‘I told you so’ on his lips.

Ford smiled, mind focusing back on the room as credits ran across the screen in front of him, the theme music jogging him back to the real world. He blinked a few times sleepily, eyes trailing to the clock again with less fervour than he had been giving it since Stan left, finally feeling content that his twin would walk through the door soon and everything would go back to normal.

He closed his eyes with a deep loud groan, thumping his head back against the chair as his hands gripped into the arms of it.

1 hour and 15 minutes.

God, how long did it take to go grocery shopping?

A loud noise in the other room made him jolt up out of the chair before he’d even comprehended it, suddenly alert and ready for anything. His mind focussed on the unmistakable shrill ring of the phone vibrating its way across the hallway table. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he took quick long strides to it, his mind filling up with worst case scenarios and ‘what if…’s that made his heart beat faster and his breaths shallower.

He crushed the wayward thoughts quickly as his hand reached out for the phone, a small chuckle escaping him at the more obvious possibility. It was probably Stan, Mr ‘I don’t need a list it’s just groceries’ ringing to ask him sheepishly what kind of cereal he liked again. “Pines residence.”

“Stanford?”

“Speaking.” Ford frowned, the voice vaguely familiar but not enough for him to match it to a face. “Who is this?”

“It’s Jeff, you asked me to keep an eye on your brother?”

Ford tried to ignore the swirl of guilt that slipped through his musings at the gnome’s words. He _did_ trust Stan, of course he did. But that didn’t mean it would hurt to have someone just watch over him from afar if he wasn’t allowed to himself. After all, the likelihood of Stan even noticing the gnome was limited, and no one else cared enough to make a fuss about them coming and going from public buildings since the weirdmaggedon. They’d been slowly coming out of the forest without anyone else’s help and Ford had taken the chance instead of trying to ask one of Stan’s friends who would either reprimand him for mistrusting his brother or not be able to lie to Stan if they got caught out.

Besides, it was easier to bribe a gnome.

He coughed through another stab of guilt, the image of Stan’s betrayed face worming its way into his skull if he had any inkling of the exchange.

It’s not like he ever had to know about it, it had been well thought out plan even if Stan would disagree.

“Everything alright?”

“…When did Stan leave?”

“What?” The guilt evaporated, leaving behind a lead weight of dread in its wake. Ford gulped, the clock’s ticking loud and piercing in his ears as if it was right beside him instead of in the other room. “Why? What’s happened?”

“He hasn’t arrived yet, that’s all. I thought I should check back with you.”

“Have you checked the car park?” Ford’s heart was in his throat, his leg tapping nervously again as the possibilities bombarded him. What if he’d gotten stuck in a flashback and crashed his car? Or if he’d forgotten the route and gotten lost? Ford should have gone with him, one more time wouldn’t have hurt to make sure he was ready.

“Well, no. But wait-” Ford bit his lip, about to go on a tirade but he conceded, waiting for him finish. “Wait. I didn’t want to keep checking outside every so often, thought it’d look suspicious to him and we don’t want that, do we? I’ve been waiting inside the doorway so there’d be no way he could get passed without me noticing but if I left and he came in, it’d look weird if I turned back around, right?”

“No, yeah, I get that.” Ford rubbed at his eyes, trying to think things through objectively. “Can you look now though? It’s far too late for him to not be there by now, he left over an hour ago.”

“…Maybe he’s learnt to drive safely since-”

Ford ignored the apologetic hiss the other creature gave as he cut himself off, he wasn’t going into that. “With Stan’s driving he should have been there within 20 minutes, tops.”

“Right…I’ll go look, hang on.”

Ford waited restlessly as he heard shuffling on the other side of the phone.

The sharp intake of breath did nothing to calm his electrified nerves. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Uhh, his car is here. In the car park, that is.”

Ford’s blood turned to ice, sure his heart skipped a beat. “What?” His words came out as barely a whisper, the wind knocked out of him as all his irrational fears seemed to fall into place.

He’d let Stan out of his sight and now he was _gone_.

“I don’t get it. The car’s there but there’s no Sta-”

“Stay there. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Ford slammed the phone down, not caring for politeness in that moment. Worry gnawed at his stomach. It didn’t make sense, if Stan’s car was there, everything should be fine, he hadn’t gotten lost driving there, hadn’t had to stop on the way, so _where was he_? Why wouldn’t he have gone straight inside?

Ford shook himself, standing up straight and spinning towards the door. Now was not the time, he needed to find him, he could worry about the reasoning later. He hesitated as he took his first step towards the door, all his plans vanishing as a fatal flaw made itself clear to him.

How was he going to get there quickly?

He let out a string of curses, stamping his foot as he turned back to the phone. He had not thought this all out like he thought he had. He thought he’d planned for every inevitability and yet hadn’t factored in the fact that Stan had taken their only fast mode of transportation when he had gone off without him.

He reached his hand out again, pausing over the phone. Who would be best to call?

He scanned the numbers above the phone. The Sheriff and his partner seemed the best option, they’d be able to get to him and take him to the mall the quickest. But then again if it was nothing, if Stan really was fine and it was all a big misunderstanding then Stan would kill him and he’d be stopping the police from doing their work in town.

Soos then? No, he lived on the other side of town. By the time he got to him and took him back into town he probably could have ran the distance.

He paused for a moment, his eyes hitting a name and number that was a gamble but would be worth it if it paid off. He dialled the number quickly, not waiting for more pros and cons on his decision to delay him further.

“You need something, Stan?”

“It’s Ford, Wendy. Are you near the Shack?” Ford’s fingers fidgeted on the desk, irritation blossoming under his skin at the sudden shift in Wendy’s voice, the sudden quiet on the other side as she hushed her friends.

“What? N-no, I’m at school. Luckily you rang during a break-”

“Wendy, I don’t have time. Any other day you would have been right about my response but not today. Stan’s missing, I need help. Now tell me, _are you skiving near the Shack_?”

“Stan’s _what_?!” Ford heard Wendy’s voice grow distant, a shout to the others. “Hey, Thompson, get us to the Shack right now.” Her voice got louder again, closer to the phone. “Mr Pines, what do you need us to do?”

“I need you to pick me up. Someone found Stan’s car in town but he’s nowhere to be seen. It could be nothing but-”

“No, I get it. It’s fine. Where are we headed? I’ll give Soos a ring to meet us there.”

“The shopping centre.”

“On it, we’ll be with you in five.”

Ford dropped the phone as he heard her hang up. Restless energy coiled through him as he found himself waiting yet again. A contrasting mix of urgent panic warring with a calm logic that said he was overreacting, that it was nothing at all. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at the clock one final time before he quickly descended into the basement.

He had one or two devices that may help if this really was as bad a situation as the irrational part of his mind was conjuring up.

 

* * *

 

They made it to the centre in record time with Wendy behind the wheel. If it had been any other instant, Ford might have worried that Stan had been teaching her to drive without him knowing.

As it was he couldn’t even bring himself to care when he found out she’d never actually passed her driving test yet. Too busy focusing on the two already standing at Stan’s car as he got out before the car had even truly stopped rolling forward. “Well?”

He didn’t like the looks he got in return.

“His car’s unlocked and-”

“And what?” Ford darted forward around the driver’s side of the car before he skidded to a halt, his stomach lurching nauseatingly.

There was blood spatter decorating the driver’s door.

Ford wished he could destroy the images that it conjured up, hated that it was something he’d learnt on his travels. The different patterns, the angle, all bringing up a comprehensive picture he didn’t want to see. Exactly where Stan must have been standing, slightly bent over and most probably going to lock his door. Could see where his faceless attacker most probably stood to throw the most impact behind the blunt instrument they had used.

How they had pulled back the weapon just as swiftly, the cast-off blood flicking across the nearby door in a fan of ellipses.

“Mr Pines!”

Ford shook himself, a hand on his shoulder grounding him back to the moment. He tried to smile gratefully at Wendy but it came out as a painful grimace, his stomach still churning at the implications. “S-sorry, thank you. We…We need to find him.”

“Soos is phoning Sheriff Blubs, I think you scared him with your expression, dude. Don’t worry. We’ll get him back. I mean, we survived the apocalypse together.”

Ford made a strangled noise of agreement, trying to fake it even though it was obvious from Wendy’s expression that she was as worried and disbelieving of her words as he was. He made to step closer to the car again, his body almost rebelling against him at the action. It felt like he was forcing his feet through tar, not wanting to go any closer to the damage whilst his mind shouted that they had to know, had to solve the puzzle and find out where Stan was.

A hand grabbed his arm again, trying and failing to pull him back. He instead jolted forward, spinning back round, hand raised as his frayed nerves got the better of him. Luckily he wasn’t that far gone, and managed to pull back as Wendy raised her hands placating and protectively.

“Whoa, as much as I get it, I think we should leave that to the police, right? That’s what you’re meant to do in these situations, isn’t it?”

“Usually yes, but they don’t have the type of equipment that I can rely on to find him.” Ford pulled out of her grasp entirely, closing the gap between himself and the car and crouching to get a closer look at the damage. He glanced up once as a shadow crossed over him, Soos’s expression upset but determined to help, before getting to work with only a nod of understanding in his direction.

He couldn’t waste time on more disruptions.

“You know, you should have just put a trace on him, would have been a lot simpler.”

Ford cringed at the thought, not mentioning that he had once had that particular idea himself. As much as it would have eased his peace of mind and helped in this outcome, it was such a mark of outright mistrust of his brother that he’d never been able to contemplate the idea for long. Having Stan followed would get him in enough trouble, having a permanent trace on him? Stan would have seen it as an act of utter betrayal and never trusted him again and he wouldn’t have blamed him.

He glanced over again, realising with a jolt that the gnome was waiting for a reply. “T-this will do the job perfectly, thank you.” He raised up the small device he’d just slipped from his pocket. It fit snugly into the palm of his hand, most of the front taken up by a large screen and two large dials. There was a compartment at the bottom which he flicked open, pulling a microscope slide out. He could hear the others talking above him, questioning what he was doing but he continued to ignore them, preparing himself for what he had to do next.

Ford’s face twisted into a revolted scowl, taking a steady breath as he took a small cotton bud out of his pocket and smeared it across one of the already drying blood spots on the car window. He shuddered at it, a small voice in his head almost overloading as it tried to combat the peaceful image he’d had when he’d picked up the device earlier. The worst scenario he’d assumed at the time was that he’d have to find some of Stan’s hair in the car. He’d never factored his _blood_ into the equation. His breath hitched as his mind started to flick up images of his twin, covered in his own blood, alone and scared somewhere right this second and there was nothing Ford could do-

The device beeping yanked him out of the despairing spiral as he glanced down at it, a straight green line dissecting the screen to tell him it had been successful. His hands had gone through the repetitive motion without his brain being in gear, wiping the cotton bud across the slide and slipping it back into the compartment for the instrument to sync with the DNA presented to it.

“So, what does the little beeping thing do exactly?”

“It, uhh-” Ford stood up, clearing his mind of the disturbing potential circumstances Stan might be in at that very moment as he stared intently at the screen, twiddling one of the dials back. He coughed, clearing his throat as he tried again, knowing he would have to explain to get them moving, to make them believe that he could find Stan without any more questions. “It’s a little piece of equipment from dimension 51-2A. It’s one of the older models though, I couldn’t grab one of their newer highly precise ones. Their forensic analysis is a lot more advanced than ours-”

“Before you go into technobabble, please remember who you’re talking to and that we don’t have time for the long winded version.” Wendy clapped her hands sharply, pointing at him. “Dumb it down.”

“…Right. Basically it can lock on to Stan’s- or whoever got hurt here, DNA. Once it’s done that it can trace their exact movements, I won’t go into how it does it, just believe me that it does. In the other dimension they use it to find out if a suspect was ever at the scene of a crime and how they got there. Cuts through all the checking of alibis and such.” He gestured vaguely, sweeping the comment away before pointing at the dial he was still spinning round with his thumb. “Anyway, with these, I can rewind and fast forward through time until it tells me-” Ford grinned victoriously as the device beeped repeatedly, the green line jumped along with the noise, like an ECG monitor. He pushed the dial in, pausing it for just a moment, the beeping and line continuing their motions in response. “Until, in this case, it tells me that an hour and a half ago Stan was stood in this spot.” A lead weight lodged itself inside his guts, dimming the victory on his lips. They were an hour and a half behind. Who knew what could have happened in that time? The need to find him was clawing deep in his core. To sprint and catch up and help but he had to go slowly for now. Find the trail, keep moving.

It was all he could do.

His eyes narrowed, his holstered gun a solid weight of vengeful promise against his hip. He swore to every deity out there in the multiverse, so help him, that whoever had done this would rue the day they had touched his twin. He would return any damage done tenfold and make sure to send it out as a warning to anyone else who’d dare attempt similar.

“So we can follow it like a SatNav that’s locked on to Stan?” Wendy and Soos high-fived, beaming at one another brightly through their worry for Stan. The relief at being on the right track eclipsing some of the concern. “What did I tell you? We’ll get him back in no time.”

Ford didn’t answer, unpausing the device to follow the trail, fast-forwarding it at a slow speed. He admired their optimism but the looming questions of why Stan was bleeding, why these people had hurt him was pervading all his other thoughts.

How much time did they have to find him?

“Will you keep us in the loop? Tell us what you’re finding as you go?”

The beeping slowed down after a few seconds, the lines jumps less rapid, signalling for him to move as Stan’s presence got further away from him. He paused the device, turning slowly to find Stan’s trail again as he nodded at the others. His eyebrows furrowed as nothing happened, the steady beeping continuing at it’s slow pace. He stopped his circle, back to facing the others, before the answer hit him like a freight train and he tilted the device downwards, the beeping picking up speed again. “He, uhh, he fell to the ground.” He looked up once, hating that his words caused the hopeful smiles to drop to pure horror but at least it got the message across. They needed to move, quickly. He fast forwarded again, waiting impatiently as he crouched back down. They may be on the route to finding him but he was still injured and Ford ached with the need to tend to that. It took a while, apparently they’d left him there for a few minutes though Ford couldn’t comprehend why.

A small noise of distress lodged in his throat as his eyes scanned the floor, waiting for the device to speed through to him moving again and saw a bloodied handprint smeared along the floor as if Stan had tried to push himself up unsuccessfully. He forced his eyes back to the instrument, ignoring the wave of panic that threatened to engulf him, his hands shaking so much he was hard pressed to keep the screen in the right position.

“What’s going on? Don’t leave us hanging.”

“H-He was down for a while.” His voice was low, almost too quiet for them to hear but he couldn’t bring himself to speak louder or point out what he had just seen. Couldn’t bring himself to make the prospects any more real than he was already imagining. He stumbled up as the beeping changed, letting it go back to real time as he walked. “He’s on the move again- this way, it was this way.” He followed the beep, a steady thump that he tried to steady his heart rate to. _Stay objective, stay concise. Don’t let emotion cloud your judgement, that won’t help Stan._ He almost growled as the trail stopped again. “He stopped here, what on ear-” His eyes flicked down again, words cut off by small spherical drops of blood marring the asphalt. He grit his teeth, trying to slow the wave of pure fury with contained breaths. _It’s a steady drip, could be from the other injury, doesn’t mean they hurt him again._ Another voice whispered back insidiously, ignoring his attempts to placate his mind. _It must have been a heavy hit to bleed that much._ Either option was not reassuring. “I-I think he struggled here.” He didn’t wait for a reply, speeding up the play through again and darting forward with it until he found himself at a different parking spot.

“ _Shit_ , is that sick? And more blood?”

The crack in Wendy’s voice, the one that said she couldn’t keep her cool anymore had Ford’s tongue tying in knots. He didn’t know much about the girl but considering the zodiac symbol that had been given to her, he couldn’t help but let the terror seize him in that moment as well. His brother was in danger, he could be anywhere by now while he was stuck forever one step behind. _He could already be d-._ He didn’t let the thought finish, crushed it tight as his nails sunk into the palm of his hand.

What the hell was going on? Who had attacked his brother? And more to the point, why had they come after him? They’d gotten rid of all the threats, Stan himself at gotten rid of Bill for crying out loud! There was nothing in town that should want to hurt the Pines family anymore.

It was at that moment that the Sheriff’s car turned into the car park, stopping them from continuing the conversation as they pulled up nearby. Ford turned his head towards them, glad for the distraction from the looming clouds above him even as his hands continued their efforts to speed through the path Stan had left for them.

Nothing he had found was painting a very good picture.

None of it was giving him high hopes for what they’d find at the end of the trail.

Luckily the Sheriff took one look at his expression and seemed to decide it was best not to interrogate him. He whispered something to Deputy Durland who nodded quickly, his face oddly serious as he stepped out of the cruiser and into the back as the Sheriff waved him over.

“Mr Pines? Get in, you can explain on the way but from Soos’s call I assume time is of the essence.”

Ford nodded, gesturing at the instrument in his hand. “I’ve got a lock on Stan’s whereabouts, in a way, we just need to follow the trail. I can explain-”

“As I said, on the way. We should get moving. You guys can follow behind us.”

Ford felt some of the tension leave him as he made his way over to them. Everything was being taken seriously, no one was questioning his methods and they were all hell bent on getting Stan back safe and sound. It would be heart-warming, really, if his body didn’t feel full of ice and lead. He was glad no one was playing devil’s advocate, slowing them down by checking over everything and making sure this wasn’t all some big misunderstanding, he didn’t think his overworked mind could take it.

He’d rather they found that out at the end of the trail, rather look completely foolish than to question everything now and be too late.

His eyes found the hand print again as he walked passed Stan’s car to the police cruiser, the gravity of the circumstances returning to his shoulders. For a second, he’d almost let his mind hope, painfully wishing for the alternative where Stan would be at the end of the trail shouting the odds at him for not trusting him to do something as menial a task as shopping.

He was just glad that he had had his doubts now, that he had had the foresight to have him followed. When would he have found out otherwise? Would it have been another hour or two before he got worried and ventured down to town himself? How far ahead would Stan have been then?

It was too much to think about, the thoughts constricting his airways as he choked passed the potential future that conjured up. Stan hurt, left for dead and there was _nothing_ he could do, still too far away to help him, still stuck one step behind and far, far too late-

“Which way?”

Ford blinked, unable to voice anything in that moment, too scared he might sob in response. He pointed at the parking space he’d been stood at in silence as he sat in the car, closing the door behind him. The beeping started again as the Sheriff drove up to the spot, peeling out slowly and copying Ford’s movements with the machine, getting the gist of it quickly as they kept speed with the ghost of a car that had made this trip before.

Ford stared down at the screen, noting they were an hour behind them still but it was just an hour, that was all. It was still a fair distance and a lot could happen, but if they’d taken the time to do all this, to take him hostage then maybe Stan was important enough to keep alive for a while. It wasn’t entirely comforting, his hand tightening making the device creak and crack with the pressure, as he thought about him being injured further, or worse tortured. But they were only an hour behind, they might even be able to cut that distance down further if they sped up and stayed on the trail.

Maybe there was hope after all.

As painful as it was to imagine Stan hurt, at least he’d be alive, a small fire igniting in his chest at the thought. Another fiercer burn settled in his head, his eyes narrowing dangerously as a red mist descended.

If they were quick enough, there was every chance that whoever had assaulted him, or whoever had ordered the attack would be there with him when they arrived.

And there would be hell to pay once Ford found them.

He focused on the anger, it was easier to think through than the images of what could be happening to his brother at that very moment. Let every imagined injury wash over him, already pinpointing how he was going to exact revenge for every hair they had dared to hurt on his brother’s head.

Once he had checked Stan over, of course. Imagining Stan’s injuries reminded him of that. First and foremost, protecting Stan came before revenge.

A pang of concern swept passed the rage, wondering exactly what was going through Stan’s mind at that moment. Whether he was hopeful for rescue or determined to get himself out a bad situation.

Whether he’d given up already.

Ford gulped, eyes locking on the landscape as he pointed the next direction. His words left him in barely a whisper.

“Just hold on Stan, I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Three things -
> 
> 1) Maybe it’s weird for Ford to ring Wendy but I hope I explained it, I also just feel like Ford would be more likely to trust a gnome for help than a human, idk XD he knows how to deal with them? 
> 
> 2) Poetic license with blood spatter. I know it would most probably take more than 1 hit for a proper spatter (blood hitting blood is normally what causes it) but cast-off from a weapon is likely, especially something like a metal pipe/bat does happen. And Ford got it wrong, the blood was dripping from Stan’s mouth the second time but he doesn’t know about that injury so he hoped it was to do with the first. When blood drips straight down (from Stan’s mouth in this case) it would be an almost perfect circle, unlike the stuff on the window.
> 
> …Sorry, had to write an essay on blood spatter analysis and different spray arrays so I wanted to get it right/as right as I could in the circumstances? XD
> 
> 3) Oh, and I hope the little device was ok and not too weird but hey, who knows what’s available in other dimensions. ♥


	3. Radio Interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Finally back to this fic! And then on to Phobos if I can get my mind away from this one now I’ve started again...  
> This chapter we’re back to Stan. It’s not a pretty situation he’s in. I’ve put in the rating that there’s blood/panic attacks and that’s going to be in full effect on this chapter.

Stan felt his grip on reality waning.

In a moment of stark clarity, survival instincts had fizzled through his abused skull. He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but he had jumped at the thread of thought like a lifeline, trying his hardest to map out the winding route the car was taking. Tried to calm the panic that kept sweeping through him by focusing on the constant movement, because if he was going to escape from this dark compartment he would need to know where he was at the end of the journey to get back home. He had to concentrate to get back to Ford, if he stopped for a moment he knew it would be too late and he’d have missed his chance. That escape would end in him stumbling around in the middle of nowhere with nothing to guide him.

He cursed as he felt his mind slipping, ignoring his frenzied pleas to concentrate, to keep focused on the route. Felt his panic spiking up around him as his mind closed in, a blanket of suffocating fog that caught him up in a tangled web and in an instant he knew he was gone.

He’d lost the trail.

But even that horrible discovery seemed almost pointless and far away from him. The sound of the tyres so close to his ear, the vibrations trembling all around him and inside him had all manner of doors clattering open in his head that forced all thoughts of escape into dark recesses where he couldn’t catch them again.

Every jolting motion sent another wave of nausea through him as his body protested the beating it was receiving, cramped and twisted in the small space. Yet his mind was far away, the pain distant and unimportant, the circumstances he was in even less so as much as he tried to claw himself back to the present. The memories were coming back in earnest now, thick, fast and cloying in their intensity that pulled him away from reality. But they were so jumbled, a mess of discordant sounds and pulsating emotions, that he couldn’t focus on them without feeling like his head was going to rupture under the pressure.

He didn’t really have a choice in the matter, however, heaving as another synapse snapped back into place and his head sent another pulse of pain thrumming through him, objecting to the onslaught.

He hated this part.

It was so _surreal_. He could never comprehend what was real and what wasn’t when multiple memories overlapped one another, a swirling mix as each one continued at real time like he was catching multiple radio stations simultaneously.

The first time it had happened, he’d found himself sitting on the floor with a small scared twin on either side of him, their hands in his, anchoring him to the present as the recollections finally slowed down.  It was weird that he’d been able to see them at all as the memories rushing towards him but his mind hadn’t been able to tell that that particular image wasn’t just a part of all the others floating passed him. Just another memory worming its way in amongst the others.

They had been experimenting. Just coaxing really. Testing the waters of his mind as his recall became better. The shack had been painstakingly reconstructed to the last insignificant detail in the hopes that it would help him remember more than faces and names like the scrapbook’s attempt had managed to conjure up.

The experiment had been a success.

It didn’t feel like it at the time.

Stan had walked into his living room and suddenly there were _too many people_. A flood of memories had pushed through the fog all at once. Mabel and Dipper had stood hopefully in the doorway, waiting breathlessly for him to say something as he stood, frozen and bewildered, in the middle of the room. But the twins were also running passed him, exclaiming loudly about the monster hunt they were about to go on. Another set were yelling for him from the kitchen, Soos’s voice joining them there. And still there were more, a myriad of twins dotting across the floor; in front of the TV, watching their favourite show or playing board games that spread across the entire floor.

It had all been too much, and he’d found himself slowly sinking, his legs giving way under him even as he heard a much louder shout than the multitude of voices assaulting him, calling in stark panic for his brother. He couldn’t focus on the twins running towards him, instead pushing himself back with a strangled yelp from the version of Mabel that he noticed, with a nauseating jolt, seemed to be phasing through his leg.

But that had been then, when Stan felt new and lost from his blank slate of a mind and everything had had an overwhelming intense edge to it. Good or bad. Big or small. Every single detail had left him breathless and shaky.

This was so much worse.

The memory superimposing itself now was as terrible as the reality of his predicament. At least all the memories in the shack had been comfortable, peaceful even. They had been bright and shining and full of laughter. Overpowering, yes, but painfully happy once he got passed the shock of the assault.

Now he could smell blood and sweat and _pure terror_. A much younger less gravelly version of his own voice whispered to him from the darkness that he only had himself to blame, to get a grip and get out of the mess he’d found himself in before it was too late. His bruised and battered abdomen complained every time the car jolted him, but every so often the pain would sharpen and shift further to the side, his arms moving instinctively to stem the steady flow of blood that he was sure resided there. Yet as soon as he had manoeuvred his hands there the feeling would vanish, leaving him cold, trembling and confused as his hands searched for a wound that wasn’t there. He shook bewilderingly, contrasting thoughts battering his fragile defences. One minute his mind would tell him no one would come looking for him, that no one would care if he died. A deep despondent despair gripping him as he sunk boneless and weary to the floor of the trunk. And yet the next his mind would be roaring at him that Ford would find him, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him. An optimistic hope thrumming through him that ached deep in his core and made him jump up as best he could with more fervour behind his wandering hands.

He tried to focus on that hope, tried to focus on Ford’s face again but it was so _hard_ when the other version of him kept telling him that Ford didn’t care what happened to him. His head pulsed again, the injury adding to the distortion. Multiple images of Ford overlapped each other for barely a second, young and old, leaving him with a disconcerting image of an ageless version of his brother full of contrasting emotions. Rage, fear, concern, panic.

It made concentrating on the Ford he knew, the real one waiting for him somewhere in the present, nigh on impossible.

_“Stop that, stop thinking about him. He gave up on you years ago. You cost him everything.”_

He was starting to give up, the doubts swallowing him whole as he started to welcome the darkness.

_“No one’s coming for you. You know what that means?”_

Stan whimpered, curling in further on himself as his younger self continued to speak, his words barbed and cutting into his soul, dragging him further. It couldn’t just be a peaceful accepting descent into darkness, could it?

**_“It means you need to get yourself out of this god damn mess yourself, do you hear me?!”_ **

Stan jumped, head smacking into the roof of the trunk with a clatter as his ears rung with the roar. He panted, chest heaving as the voice continued its torment. But it had woken him from the hazy state he’d been entering. It was like his younger self was no longer a memory, twisted and distorted to keep him moving in his time of need. Or maybe he had shouted at himself last time. He frowned deeply. Had he really been that loud? Or did everything just sound loud because it had echoed back at him in the enclosed space?

_“No one’s coming for you. Don’t wait around and hope, all that does is stop you moving. Get up, find a way out and do it yourself. It’s what you’ve been doing for years.”_

It felt like a hand was moving him onwards and he latched on to the feeling of actually knowing what to do, to push passed all the uncertainty he had been experiencing and let it guide him into action. He let the earlier trailing map vanish from his mind, discarding the notion for the useless information it was, now that he’d lost a section of the car’s journey. He pulled his hands towards his mouth, a disgruntled noise of disgust slipping through as he tasted blood on the ropes that held them tight together. The pain flowed back with the taste, the harsh burn that all of his struggling, his twisting and turning had caused to his wrists. He hadn’t noticed before, the memories washing it away like it was nothing but now it was sharp and all-consuming as every jostling movement sent another flaming lick to his bare skin.

He did his best to ignore the pain, reminded himself that his actions would get rid of the pain entirely soon as he sank his teeth into the cords before him. He tugged a few times at the entire rope before getting to work teasing out individual strands and sharply yanking them out of the bundle. He cursed, dropping his hands and spitting to the side as more dried blood mixed with his saliva, the taste making him close to heaving before he dragged them back up again and returned to his task. He had a goal now, a focus point to keep his mind sharp. He ignored the winces, a litany of curses escaping him instead of little half noises, adding fuel to his determination to get out of this situation. It didn’t matter if he felt his lips tear against the coarse material, his gums following suit as his teeth smarted at the succession of biting yanks he was throwing at the binds. He felt whispered words encouraging him but he endeavoured to keep his focus, only nodding softly along with the sentiment. It was like he was relearning things he’d always known. How great his survival instinct was, what he could do in a bind if he had to. He didn’t let himself stop and dwell on why he had once known all this before as he struggled on, his efforts becoming more difficult with every sweep as wounds opened wider and teeth protested louder, making the entire affair that much more of an uphill battle.

But he continued onwards, the alternative far worse. Just letting himself sit and wallow until they finally stopped wherever they were taking him. He had to have some kind of advantage.

He felt the rope finally give under his ministrations, what was left of the fabric slipping away from his hands. He gave a croak of victory, tugging both hands into his chest to try and ease the phantom burn, letting himself have a few moments of rest as he tried to get feeling back in his fingers, his mind racing with the next part of the puzzle. Was there a latch he could pull somewhere? Pop the trunk from the inside? Or maybe one of the seats folded forward and he could slip into the backseat-

_“Good, now at least if you don’t find an escape route, you’ll be ready for them when they come back.”_

Wait.

_When they come back?_

The car was still moving. He hadn’t been left anywhere in an empty car. So why was his mind telling him otherwise?

Stan frowned, his hands moving fruitlessly in front of him as he tried to move his position. He blinked dazedly a few times, not even registering that he still couldn’t see and it was a useless movement as the binds tore into his wrists again, the phantom pain he’d felt before so much more real and jagged this time as his mind latched on to it wholeheartedly. He gave a whine of confusion, twisting and tugging at them before he went to bite at them again, realising with a jolt that they had barely been touched. His false teeth were doing nothing against the hardy material and were actually starting to dislodge from his mouth at the assault he was trying to force them into. He ran his tongue along them, phantom pains sparking up as if real teeth were there and wobbling precariously but it was not the case. He no longer felt the need to spit out the metallic sweet taste that had been overtaking it either. He let his head thump against the bottom of the trunk, another pained sound reverberating through him as the memory finally released its hold and the stark reality of what exactly had happened made itself known to him.

He hadn’t had clarity of mind like he thought he had.

He had been caught up in the memory, succumbed to the recollection of escaping like a wishful dream no matter how nightmarish the vision actually was. So much so that he had actually thought he was escaping, just like his younger self had.

He tugged his hands towards his face, struggling to wipe the tears that were starting to collect again as hopelessness washed over him. But there was something else there too, a wish to protect his younger self who felt almost like a stranger. The one that had been so scared, so utterly afraid and injured that he had defied all odds and like a cornered animal fought tooth and claw for his survival.

What on earth had he done all those years ago to deserve that?

What had he done to warrant being found _again_ as an old man and for history to repeat itself?

Whoever he had offended had a serious grudge.

Even in the midst of everything Stan felt a bubble of laughter escape him. He might not have the memories from his years alone but he _did_ remember Ford, and he _did_ remember everything they’d been through.

Story of his life really, if he thought about it in perspective.

Someone holding a grudge against him, that is.

His laughter choked off as the rumbling of the car stopped abruptly. His breathing sounded heavy in his own ears at the sudden silence, spikes of fear running through him as he felt the car doors open and slam shut. _Too late, too slow. They’re going to drag you out now and you have no way to defend yourself-_

A bang on the top of the trunk made him yelp again, a crowing laugh setting his teeth on edge but he couldn’t even bring himself to feel ashamed through the turmoil of emotions racing through him. He waited, body completely locked up and tense, for the blinding light he so desperately needed but also so greatly feared for what it would bring next.

Yet nothing happened. His position didn’t change, his body humming with the rising tension. He could hear voices rumbling above him but they were too low, too muffled to hear no matter how much he strained.

And then his attention was taken away as the car started to move again. He frowned at the slow pace, wondering what on earth was going on when he knew that both the occupants were above the trunk.

And then it hit him, the blow winding him and turning his blood to ice, all in one quick motion.

They were pushing the car into something. His mind span with the possibilities. Were they throwing him off of a high ledge? Pushing him somewhere no one would ever find him? His heart leapt into his chest and his struggles started in earnest again, banging up against the trunk roof. He ignored the laughter above him as his assailants realised what he was doing, his teeth gritting in annoyance as the response sparked his movements further. But he knew it was a weak attempt. The cramped position was taking its toll on his energy even as the adrenaline gave him a much needed push, a drive to keep going.

A sudden jolt had him lurching forward, cracking into his intended escape route with a small hiss of surprise. He paused, a loud curse above him giving him cause for hope. He listened intently, pleading with whatever gods existed that someone had caught them red handed and he was going to be freed from this metal prison before it became his tomb.

His hopes were dashed as he realised the truth of the matter. Another small jolting motion had him shuddering again but the car wouldn’t budge. He held on to a small fragment of the hope that had been produced, a small giddy, gleeful feeling that whatever they had planned for his demise was no longer an option.

The words directed at him moments later tore that last fragment away from him and dashed it to pieces.

“Heh. Looks like ya’ don't get the quick death we planned for ya’.”

He felt himself pull away, somehow knowing that the man with the twisted grin was pressing his face close to the other side of the metal.

“I hope ya’ like it in there.”

“No, please-” Stan choked out quietly, his vocal chords shredded by his earlier screaming.

“Rico te manda saludos.”

Stan’s breathing hitched as the meaning behind the words became clear, a sudden painful flash of a familiar and not-familiar face danced across his eyes. _Rico._ A multitude of images came up quicker once the first one was let through. A prison cell. A dingy old office. A vicious snarl of pure ferocious rage as the man launched at him, the glint of a blade in his raised hand. He blinked the images away, shaking his head as he heard the crunch of footsteps, the voices becoming quiet again through distance.

"Por favor, no-" Stan’s words were louder, his survival instincts winning over his pride as he begged. Begged for them not to leave him here in the middle of nowhere in this perpetual darkness to await death. He didn’t even hear the accompanying laughter to his words, didn’t notice the men get further and further away with every second as his brain tried to register how on earth he suddenly knew another language that he never remembered learning. He could feel another door creaking open, whispered voices, his own and others, all speaking over one another as more memories became apparent, echoing around him as if they were actually present with him in the confined space. It was disturbing, the feel of people whispering in his ear, ghosts swimming around his head even as his own breathing sounded harsh and grating to his own ears.

Everything cut off in a sudden dark hush a few moments later, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes widened and he was sent sprawling back into the present.

Something cold had touched his leg.

He waited for a moment, not daring to breathe as he waited for whatever it was to happen again. When nothing did, he let out a shaky breath, assuming it was his imagination and relaxed again. He froze again as he moved his leg back against the seats, a dampness spreading through the hem. He lifted his leg slowly, bringing it down against the bottom, his eyes widening at the small splash it created.

The trunk was taking in water.

His breathing sped up, his heart in his throat as he pushed himself up against the trunk door, hooking himself out of the water even though there was barely any there yet, knowing that it would only get worse. There was a voice in his head screaming about staying dry for as long as possible, keeping alive for longer so that someone could find him.

Another small voice finally connected the dots, his heart sinking into despair as he wondered about giving up entirely. He could see it now. The car that he had been forced into, now left abandoned in the middle of the woods. He could be anywhere. He could escape here only to die travelling deeper into the forest instead of towards civilisation. Or he could wait, one of the many small bodies of water floating up to the surface of his mind, the car precariously perched at its bank and slowly sinking to its, and Stan’s, final resting place.

He shook at the thought, the quiet serene lake. It was almost picturesque in his head and soon the car would be gone, lost to its waters and no longer tarnishing the landscape.

If death wasn’t so imminent it might have looked like a dignified resting place.

The image changed as Stan took grim satisfaction in tearing the scene apart. A scream ripped passed his lips, another shout for his brother that might at least have some curious woodland creature scurrying towards him.

He’d take a fight with some vicious monster any day over this slow agonising fall to oblivion.

And it wouldn’t come to that anyway. Because Ford was the smart one. Ford knew these woods like the back of his hand. He’d be able to find him, of course he would. Stan didn’t let the knowledge that Ford wouldn’t know where he was even enter into the equation.

Ford would find him, Ford would know how to.

All he needed to do was make sure he heard him.

 

* * *

 

It felt like he had screamed for hours, the water slowly rising up to meet him. His throat finally gave out on him, a hacking cough taking its place as he tried desperately to keep going. But it was getting harder and harder to stay determined. To stay confident in the thought that he would be found.

“Ford? You’ll find me right?”

The silence echoing back at his croak of a whisper left him feeling as lost and alone as his younger self had felt once before. His voice rang in his ears again as water touched his back, the cold sinking into his very soul.

_No one’s coming for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I FEEL SO MEAN RIGHT NOW. I promise the next chapter is Ford coming get Stan and there’ll be so much comforting and love and- I promise ok, I’m getting vengeful and I made up the damn scenes. Protective Ford is on his way.
> 
> Oh and you might have noticed that some of the assailants words didn’t get translated - I added more after I spoke to my lovely translator and they’re super busy and I didn’t want to make them fret and get back to me. @trashofdoom thanks for all your help, I hope everything is ok ♥
> 
> What was in spanish - 
> 
> Assailant: Rico sends his greetings/regards
> 
> Stan: Please, don’t-


End file.
